


Steady Ground

by aslytherspuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Callboy!Harry, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslytherspuff/pseuds/aslytherspuff
Summary: Modern day / muggle world AU.Harry is a callboy working to pay off the debt he owes his landlord.Theo and Draco hire someone to have a threesome with.Angst, smut, pining, and - eventually - fluff ensues.Oh, and Draco is French.**The rape/non-con does not occur between the main triad, and there are t/ws and tldrs on the more challenging chapters**
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 61
Kudos: 137





	1. Balance

**Author's Note:**

> This story has fairly dark undertones, mentions of rape and HIV, and mentions of abuse. But none of it is explicit or shown "on screen" and none of it occurs between the main triad.

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**BALANCE**

Harry tried to ignore the look on the taxi driver's face as he gave the address. He should be used to it by now. It was the look that was equal parts "are you sure that's the right address?" and "I know you can't afford that". And he was right. He couldn't afford it. He could barely afford the taxi fare, but it was a Sunday and buses didn't run out here on Sundays. And Harry really, really needed this job.  
  
It had been a referral from another client. Not a nice other client, but a rich one. One who would pay a month's rent in cash in exchange for sending Harry home with a limp. Keeping a roof over his head was worth it. Or so he told himself.  
  
' _7pm Sunday. Friends of mine. Don't be late._ ' The text had read. Not a question. Not a request. The plural had sent a shiver of fear down his spine, but Harry had understood; if he didn't turn up, he'd lose more than just this job.  
  
The taxi came to a stop on the sweeping, gravel driveway of a large, Georgian hotel. Harry flinched as he handed over the last of his month's food money to the clearly-surprised driver. He really, really hoped he got paid tonight. Sometimes the richest clients were the cheapest, always looking for a reason to cut his rate or - more than once - not pay him at all.  
  
His crumpled, cheap suit stood out like a sore thumb amongst the finely tailored clothes and period opulence of the luxury hotel, and Harry could see the silent judgement in the eyes of the receptionist as she politely - but coldly - queried his business at such a fine establishment.  
  
Harry was used to that, too.  
  
"I'm here to visit some friends of mine," he said, with all the casual confidence he could master, though he doubted he was fooling anyone. "Room 203?"  
  
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Any visitors must be accompanied. If you know the name of your -" she paused dubiously, "friends, I can call the room to have you escorted."  
  
 _Shit._ Harry never asked the name of his clients. Some of them told him, but he was sure most of them lied.  
  
A hand landed on his shoulder from behind and he flinched.  
  
"Harry. There you are," a smooth, accented voice said. "I was just coming to meet you."  
  
The receptionist's eyebrows all but disappeared into her hairline. "Oh," she spluttered. "Oh, Mr Malfoy. I didn't realise -"  
  
"That Harry was my guest? I must have forgotten to leave a note this morning. If he visits again, please send him up. There's no need for an escort."  
  
Harry stifled his snort. No need, indeed.  
  
Harry didn't look up as the firm hand on his shoulder steered him past the ornate, wooden desk and towards a sweeping staircase.  
  
"Never pronounce my name right," Mr Malfoy muttered under his breath, and Harry tensed immediately at the irritation in his tone. He resolved not to call him by his name; antagonising a client was never a good idea.  
  
"It's Mal _foi_ ," he continued, stressing the end syllable with clear annoyance. "French."  
  
Ah. Now the accent made sense.  
  
"But you can call me Draco."  
  
Harry stumbled a little on the dark, heavily patterned carpet, the hand on his shoulder simultaneously pushing him forward and holding him up.  
  
"Allez prudemment," the man murmured softly from behind him. "Steady."  
  
The hand did not leave his shoulder.  
  
When they reached the room, Mr Malfoy knocked once, giving Harry a glimpse of an expensive, grey shirt and a finely boned, pale hand. The door swung open immediately, as if the person inside had been waiting by the door.  
  
Harry hadn't yet seen Mr Malfoy - turning his head would be far too obvious - but the man at the door... Harry kept his head down but peeked up at him through his lashes.  
  
This man was not his normal clientele. Tall. Dark. Handsome. _Young_.  
  
Long, thick lashes framed dark blue eyes. His cheeks were high and soft and dusted with freckles. And he was smiling.  
  
Obviously not at Harry. No one smiled like that at Harry.  
  
When Fenrir - and if that was his real name, Harry would eat his hat - had said _friends_ , Harry had assumed a bored, middle aged couple looking to spice up a waning sex life. Or perhaps a gang bang to entertain some rich business men. Harry's clients fell into three categories: lonely, bored, and sadistic. But they were always old, and almost always rich.  
  
He'd not expected... well, whatever this was.  
  
The tall, dark man was holding his hand out, almost as if... Did he want to shake Harry's hand?  
  
Hesitantly, Harry placed his hand into the broad, warm palm, and the man grinned. At him.  
  
What the fuck was this?  
  
"Hi. You must be Harry. My name's Theo."  
  
"H-hi." Harry stuttered, taken totally off guard.  
  
Just then, Mr Malfoy appeared from behind Harry, going to stand beside Theo, his hand resting briefly against his hip. Finally, Harry could look at him. And what a sight it was. He was tall, almost as tall as Theo, but slim - almost delicate - and beautiful. Pale skin, grey eyes, blonde hair.  
  
After far longer than was socially acceptable, Theo slowly released Harry's hand.  
  
"Thank you for coming," he said, still smiling. "Would you like a drink? Some food? The room service here is excellent. What would you like?"  
  
Harry shook his head quickly. He'd long since learned his lesson on that one. He didn't drink on the job, and anything edible could be spiked. "No, thank you." And then, because he was feeling off-kilter and out of control, he intentionally looked up at the man through his lashes. "What would _you_ like?"

A furrow appeared between Theo's brows, but it was gone before Harry could think anything of it.

“Of course,” he muttered, almost to himself, and Harry noticed the hand Mr Malfoy had rested on Theo's hip tighten.

As if sensing the awkwardness Harry was helpless to avoid, Mr Malfoy stepped forward. “Please,” he said, “take a seat.” He motioned to the large, plush sofas situated on either side of the ornate fireplace. “We have all night. No need to rush, non?”

Oh. Right. Some clients did this. The lonely ones, usually. They wanted to talk or, more accurately, they wanted someone to listen. Or, sometimes, they just wanted to pretend this wasn't a financial transaction. Observe a thin veneer of social niceties, as if they justified what came after. Harry shrugged, sitting carefully on one of the velvet sofas and unbuttoning his poorly-fitted suit jacket. “Thank you.”

Mr Malfoy waved his thanks off, pulling Theo with him to sit on the sofa opposite Harry, and – _oh_. _Oh_. They were a couple.

God, Harry felt stupid. Of course, they were a couple. Instantly, he felt on steadier ground. Light, meaningless chatter to pretend he was a pull rather than a purchase, then off to the bedroom to enact one or another of the couple's threesome fantasies. He'd been here a hundred times before.

Never with a couple quite this young. Or attractive. Or gay. But still, they were all the same in the end.

Mr Malfoy curled into Theo's side the moment he was seated, his head tucking into Theo's neck with the ease of many years' practice, and Harry was thrown off balance again. The couples who hired him... Well, they never seemed to like each other much. Maybe they didn't, or maybe they just didn't show it in front of him. It was nothing he had any business being a part of, after all.

“So,” Theo said, still smiling, a broad hand carding through Mr Malfoy's soft, blonde hair, “what do you do?”

Harry cringed. It was a perfect opener, probably, for the kind of people Theo and Mr Malfoy normally spent time with. “Ah,” he said, “this, mainly.” He picked up 'normal' jobs here and there – waiting tables, serving coffee, shop work, whatever was going. There was more work in the summer and around the holidays; less work now, after the temporary Christmas rush. But none of it paid the bills.

He forced a smile onto his face even when Theo's fell in the uncomfortable silence that followed. “What do you do?” he motioned to the expensive surroundings. “I'm sure you're very successful.” Clients who wanted to talk liked having their egos stroked, Harry knew. Compliment them, the room, their money and their achievements. It made things easier, later, if they'd warmed to him a bit. Sometimes it encouraged them to be a little nicer.

Mr Malfoy snorted. “Non,” he said, and it almost sounded like he was laughing. His eyes, where they peeked out from the shadow of Theo's neck, were sparkling. “Our families are rich. We do nothing. Playboy lifestyle.”

Theo cuffed him lightly on the back of the head, but he was smiling again.

The bluntness of the answer startled a laugh out of Harry that he rapidly muffled, in case Mr Malfoy thought he was laughing at him. Plenty of his clients lived off unearned wealth but none of them had ever _admitted_ it before. The honesty was refreshing.

Theo rolled his eyes. “He even has a yacht. It's ridiculous.”

Mr Malfoy pouted and Harry refused to find that or the banter between them any kind of adorable. “Says you. You have an _island_.”

Harry didn't even have working hot water, but he kept the smile plastered to his face regardless. Maybe, if he was good enough, they'd pay him enough to get his boiler fixed.

“Do you travel often?” he asked, politely, preparing himself to nod along as they listed places he'd never been or even heard of.

“Sometimes,” Theo said, lightly. “If we can agree on where to go. Mr Snowman here can't stand sunlight and, honestly, anyone who thinks the _cold_ is fun...” He shuddered dramatically, then turned his big, blue eyes on Harry. “Please tell me you don't like the cold.”

Harry thought of his broken boiler and single-glazed windows and shivered. “No,” he said, firmly. “Can't stand the cold. Sorry, Mr Malfoy.” He made sure to pronounce his name the French way, though he was sure his accent was awful.

Theo grinned triumphantly. “I _told_ you,” he said, kissing Mr Malfoy's temple affectionately, “liking the cold is _weird_.”

Mr Malfoy's lips twisted. “Ton accent est terrible,” he muttered, turning to Harry. “Non. _Draco_. Call me Draco. Please. Mr Malfoy is my père.”

Harry hesitated briefly, before nodding and smiling. “Draco,” he said, his voice coming out softer than he'd intended. He fought the blush that climbed his cheeks. Yes, the two men were beautiful and charming, but they weren't paying him to fall for that. He wasn't a pick-up at a bar, no matter what they were pretending. This was just a job.

Harry chanced a glance over at them, wondering if he'd find Theo jealous or Draco annoyed. Theo was still smiling, cradling Draco close to him in a way that said he was treasured, and Draco had a small, satisfied smile on his face. Harry didn't know whether he or Theo had caused it, but it didn't really matter. As long as they were happy.

“So, Theo, _Draco_ ,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He needed to know why he was here, what they wanted from him, how he should act. It was easier to please clients when he knew what was expected of him, and he needed to make the time they were paying him for worthwhile. He couldn't afford to lose money.

“Right now?” Theo asked, almost sounding surprised.

“Well,” Harry said, hesitating. Some clients hated being reminded, but... “You are paying me.”

Draco's lip curled and Harry tensed.

“Yes,” Theo said, evenly, as he tucked Draco closer. “We will pay you for all of this. Don't worry about that.”

Harry didn't really know what to think of that. Draco had stopped sneering, and was instead regarding him speculatively from beneath Theo's chin, so Harry pressed on. “Oh... thank you, but – really, what would you like?” _Why did you ask me here? You seem perfectly content with one another. Why pay for someone like me at all?_

“What do _you_ like?” Theo asked, instead, and Harry sensed a trap. There was _always_ a wrong answer.

Harry forced a crooked, playful grin that was as false as his answer. “Anything,” he said, “it's all fun.” Something flickered across both their faces that said his mask was cracking, but if they hadn't believed him, neither of them mentioned it.

Theo swiped a soft thumb across Draco's cheek. “My Dragon likes to be in the middle,” he said, voice full of affection as he gazed at Draco, talking more to him than to Harry. “And I can't deny him a thing, can I, mon coeur?”

Harry spluttered. That was no what he'd been expecting Theo to say. It was mild, to say the least, compared to what most clients wanted. But the sweet tone and the bluntness of the request seemed so incongruent, Harry was momentarily taken off-guard. Again. It seemed to be the theme of the night, Harry being off-balance and unsure. He hated it, but he didn't let it show.

Instead, he grinned at Theo. “Sounds great.”

Draco's lips twitched into a tiny smile, and Harry could see excitement simmering in the depths of his grey eyes for the first time since he arrived. Just like that, he was back in familiar territory.

“What else do you like?” he asked, his voice slightly lower, intentionally seductive. His eyes flicked between Theo and Draco, momentarily unsure which of them he should be addressing.

“Shall we move to the bedroom?” Theo asked, instead, and Harry stood immediately.

With a nudge, Draco disentangled himself from Theo's embrace and moved to stand in front of Harry, far closer than would be socially acceptable. Harry looked up through his eyelashes at the taller man, then deliberately dropped his gaze to Draco's full lips. Draco's mouth fell open slightly, and his hand came up to cup Harry's cheek.

“May I?” he asked, as if he weren't paying for the privilege. Harry nodded. And then soft, gentle lips were on his, and he was completely off-balance again.


	2. Right

** CHAPTER TWO: **

** RIGHT **

  
  


The bed was huge. A super king. Four poster. All thick, silk sheets and dark, carved wood. The receptionist had hardly faltered when Theo had asked for the largest bed the hotel offered. He supposed that hotel staff were used to odd requests, and were used to complying without question so long as they paid well.

His chest twinged as he realised that likely applied to Harry, too.

He'd known it would be hard, but he'd not quite expected this. The fear, the deference, the thin, brittle smiles and easy deflections. Harry seemed to think every movement, every question was some kind of trap, and he was well-versed in side stepping them.

But then Draco had kissed him and,  _ oh _ . Theo knew Harry did this for a living, did this all the time, but he wanted to believe the way that he'd come alive in Draco's arms was real. That it meant something. Draco had tried so hard to pretend that he was okay with all of this, but Theo knew the truth. If Draco started to believe – to hope – that this was real and it wasn't, it would crush him. It always did.

Harry's head was nestled against Draco's throat, nipping and sucking gently on the pale, soft skin as Draco stumbled backwards towards the bed, his eyes fluttering shut. The soft noises coming from Draco's mouth shot straight to Theo's cock, making his tight suit trousers more than a little uncomfortable. Draco tripped back another step, whimpering softly. Theo smiled and moved to stand behind Draco, stopping his stumbling movements with firm hands rested on his hips. They had all night; there was no need to rush.

He trailed his lips along the opposite side of Draco's neck, mirroring Harry's movements for a moment as he felt Draco's knees buckle. Theo caught him easily, held him upright, met Harry's green eyes as his head lifted sharply. Theo was sure there was some fire, some excitement smouldering in the depths, but he didn't know him well enough to be sure. He wanted to stop, to ask Harry again what  _ he _ wanted. To make this about  _ all _ of them. But – 

“He loves that,” Theo said, instead, pressing another kiss to Draco's sensitive neck without dropping Harry's gaze. Harry nodded, closed his eyes, redoubled his efforts.

Theo sighed.

“Come on, Dray, sweetheart,” he murmured softly when his boyfriend started to pant and whine – at Harry's kisses, at Theo's touch, at being trapped between them. “Let's move to the bed.”

Draco followed pliantly as Theo guided him over to the bed and lay him down on the thick, soft mattress. He started to unbuckle Draco's trousers when he felt hands on his own waistband. Harry was kneeling on the floor beside the bed, hands on Theo's buckle, his eyes focused on it like it was a locked safe rather than a simple belt.

Theo couldn't help it. He reached out and stroked his fingers through the thick, dark curls. “Harry, off the floor.” Theo would get on his knees for Draco any day of the week. He probably would for Harry, too. But he can't stand the sight of his boys on the floor.

Harry got to his feet so quickly he stumbled, an apology falling from his lips, fear written across his face, and Theo hates himself, just a little bit. Hates himself for hiring Harry like he's a car, not a person. Hates himself for sleeping with someone he knows couldn't possibly be fully willing – not when he clearly needed the money, and was probably terrified of what Grey would do to him if he declined. Hates himself for enjoying it.

“Harry, Harry, woah,” Theo said, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him, to pull him closer. “It's okay,” he said, firmly, so Harry knew he meant it. “I don't let Draco kneel, either. There's a perfectly comfortable bed. Let's use it, hm?”

Harry looked up at him, discomfort and confusion warring with something else in his bright, green eyes. “O-okay.”

That was nowhere near good enough for Theo, but Harry scrambled onto the bed and started tugging at the buttons on Draco's shirt. As each patch of pale, white skin was revealed, Harry nipped and sucked at it, leaving soft, red marks down the center of his chest. Draco was boneless on the bed, head thrown back, little cries leaving his throat with each gentle bite.

So Theo pushed aside his misgivings and returned his attention to Draco's now-straining fly. Undoing his belt and carefully unzipping his trousers, Theo leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the growing damp patch on his boxers. Draco let out a quiet sob, and Theo's cock twitched.

Whether with others or alone, there was nothing he loved more than taking his Dragon apart and putting him back together again.

Harry had fully unbuttoned Draco's shirt and was now guiding it off his shoulders, sliding it down his arms, pressing soft kisses as he went. Theo didn't know if Harry was good at reading people or just following his own lead, but he was gentle with Draco, slow, almost worshipful. Some of the others they'd slept with had been loud, harsh, demanding. Wrong.

Harry was  _ right _ .

Theo slid Draco's trousers and boxers carefully over his straining erection and down his soft, pale legs. “B eau garçon ,” he murmured, knowing that even if his accent was off, Draco loved hearing him speak French. Draco whimpered, his hips twitching up. “Mon coeur,” Theo said, softly, his hands rubbing soothingly along Draco's sides, relishing the way his chest heaved and gooseflesh sprung up in the wake of his touch. “Je t'aime tellement.”

“Je t'aime davantage, mon nounours,” Draco replied, almost automatically, his voice soft and breathy, and Theo smiled.

He'd almost forgotten Harry was there when a hesitant hand found his as it stroked over Draco's thigh.

Theo looked up to see Harry kneeling on the bed, a small bottle of cheap lube and some condoms in his hand. Theo eyed them, then shook his head. Neither of those would do, not with Draco's sensitive skin.

Fear flooded Harry's face.

“Oh, no no no,” Theo hurried to explain, wrapping one hand lightly around Harry's wrist before he could pull away. “We have our own,” he said, and Harry relaxed immediately. “Draco has allergies.”

Understanding replaced fear, and Harry smiled. “Okay.”

Theo put them on the bedside table and reached for their own – much more expensive – box of essentials in the drawer. “Here,” he said, motioning to it, “grab what you need.”

Harry picked out a condom and a bottle of lube, then turned back to Theo, eyes uncertain.

“May I – ” he began, motioning to Draco's red, dripping erection. It hadn't flagged in the slightest, even with the slight interruption. Theo wasn't sure Draco had even noticed.

Theo shrugged, smiling. “Ask him.”

Harry blushed, and Theo hated that he found it endearing. “I didn't – I mean, I –”

“Don't worry about it,” he said, once again giving into the temptation to sink his fingers into Harry's hair. Normally, it bothered him when men ignored Draco, directing all their questions to him instead, but with Harry he found it... sweet. A hint of naivety peeking through Harry's jaded exterior. He swept his hand down, letting it cradle Harry's cheek, and leaned in to softly brush his lips against Harry's full ones.

“Mon lutin,” Theo murmured softly as he pressed another gentle kiss to Harry's parted lips. The term of endearment had never quite fit Draco, but it suited Harry perfectly with his bright eyes and petite build.

Harry didn't ask what it meant. He pulled away with a final brush of his lips, then turned to Draco, who was now watching them lazily from the bed, silver eyes cracked half open as he palmed his leaking cock.

Harry's free hand cupped Draco's cheek, tilting his head up so their eyes met. “Draco,” he said, so carefully, as if the word itself was precious. Theo watched Draco lean into the touch, his half-lidded eyes meeting Harry's eagerly. “Would you like me to touch you?” He held up the condom and the lube, so Draco could see it. “Theo gave me yours, so it won't hurt you.”

Theo's heart melted at Harry's rush to reassure Draco, to care for him. But it ached, too. Because Theo was sure Harry was being this attentive, this gentle because it was what no one ever did for him.

Draco nodded eagerly, the move nuzzling his head into Harry's palm, and he pressed a kiss there. “Please.”

Harry smiled. “Do you want me to stretch you?”

Draco nodded, eyes flashing with lust, a little whimper slipping out of his lips.

Theo's cock throbbed, and he stepped closer to Harry.

“Would it be alright if I –” Theo motioned to the lube, and then to Harry. 

He nodded.

Theo paused, then pulled Harry's arm until he turned to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you okay to bottom?” he asked, seriously. “Do you  _ want _ to bottom?” He knew he was paying for this. He knew Harry might lie. But he had to ask.

Harry froze. “I – yes?” He sounded unsure. Then he squared his shoulders and looked Theo in the eye. “I like to bottom. When it's done right.”

Theo smiled, a weight he hadn't known he was carrying lifting from his shoulders. “We'll do it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the cliffie. Hope you enjoyed Theo's POV :)


	3. Hazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, there is absolutely no real update schedule for this story, so for those of you who like that - I'm sorry.  
> I prefer to write and post immediately, so you'll get stuff as soon as it's written (yay!).

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**HAZY**

  
  


After Harry had kissed him, things had gone a little hazy.

They were in the bedroom. Draco had been trapped between them. Then on the bed. Then naked. There were hands and lips and teeth and Draco was dizzy with it.

The hands and the lips and the teeth left, and Draco forced his eyes open. _Oh._ A whimper slipped past his lips as he reached down to grip the base of his aching cock, trying to hold back from finishing before they'd even started. Harry and Theo were kissing.

When he and Theo had first started... well, whatever this was called. Inviting other people into their bed. He'd thought he'd be jealous, possessive; he was the rest of the time, almost excessively so. But to see someone kissing Theo, touching him, and Theo doing the same to them... Draco whined, both desperately wanting their attention and not wanting them to stop paying attention to one another.

Harry ended the kiss and turned to look at him with such a tender expression, Draco's heart clenched. No one apart from Theo had looked at him like that since – Well, it had been a long time, anyway. He didn't know what to think seeing it in the face of someone he'd barely met. Someone they were _paying._

A small, soft hand cupped his cheek and Draco leaned into it, revelling in the attention.

“Draco?”

He lifted his eyes to Harry's, losing himself instantly in their green depths. He didn't look as scared as he had before.

“Would you like me to touch you?” Harry asked, and Draco bit back a moan at the thought. In his spare hand, he was holding the familiar packaging of Draco's preferred condoms and lube, and Draco was momentarily surprised. “Theo gave me yours, so it won't hurt you.” Of course, Theo had. He was always there, always looking out for Draco when he was in no fit state to fend for himself. Then Draco realised that Harry was still waiting for an answer.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and he nodded. _Yes yes yes, please, touch me_. He thinks part of that might have slipped out of his mouth as words, but he isn't sure. Harry's lips twitched into a smile, so maybe it did.

“Do you want me to stretch you?”

_Oh._ Draco nodded again, and this time he couldn't hold back the whimper that climbed up his throat. Normally, Theo did all the prep, and whoever shared their bed just joined in when he was 'ready'. It was more clinical, more impersonal than Draco wanted, but he'd been expecting nothing different tonight. He'd certainly not been expecting _Harry_.

He relaxed back into the pillows, expecting to feel Harry's hands on him, but there was nothing. Then he heard Theo's voice, pitched low so he wouldn't hear what was being said, and he cracked his eyes open to see what was going on.

Theo had one hand around Harry's bicep, his face was serious. Draco had a sudden, awful feeling that maybe this was it. This was when Theo would finally have enough. This was when Theo would kick Harry out and tell Draco that he didn't want to share him anymore.

Draco watched helplessly as Harry tensed, the muscles along his shoulders and back bunching and rippling in response to whatever Theo was saying.

And then Theo smiled.

Draco couldn't quite hear what he said next, but both men relaxed simultaneously, and when Harry turned back to Draco, he had that same, soft expression on his face he'd had earlier.

“Here,” he said, softly, as he settled onto the bed between Draco's spread thighs. “Let me make you feel good, hm?”

Harry rested one hand on his hip, thumb trailing sparks of pleasure along his upper thigh as it stroked against his overheated skin.

Soft, slippery fingers trailed down torturously slowly, and a jumble of pleas in English and French spilled from his lips.

And then things went hazy again.

Light, quick fingers pushing, twisting, pressing _right there oh god don't stop please._

A smaller, warmer body covering his, holding him down. Pinning his hips to the bed with surprising strength as he writhes and bucks and _sobs_.

Murmurs in his ear. Praise. Gentle, coaxing words that he usually only heard from Theo, but spilled from Harry's lips.

“You ready, sweet boy?”

The words broke through the haze, just a little. Draco blinked up, lashes wet with tears, to see Harry gazing down at him, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.”

Draco's lips curled up, unbidden, as an irrational feeling of shyness swept over him.

“Hi.”

Harry brushed a thumb over his reddened cheeks, catching some of the tears that had spilled. His other hand slowly withdrew, and Draco whined, his hole clenching painfully on nothing.

“Shh, shh,” Harry murmured, his warm breath fanning over Draco's face, “I've got you. It's time for you to go in the middle, okay?”

Theo appeared at his side, naked and sweaty and grinning, and gently pulled Draco into the middle of the bed. He flopped like a ragdoll in his arms, too overwhelmed to master his own muscles, as Theo spooned him from behind, his thick, hot cock pressing insistently between his cheeks.

“ _Please_.” He was pushing back shamelessly now, and Theo chuckled in his ear, low and dirty and _fuck_ , Draco loved that sound.

“Patience, little Dragon.”

And then Harry was there, back against Draco's sweat-slick chest, hand reaching around to fist his dripping cock, and _oh fuck. Oh. Oh, fuck._ Draco threw his head back against Theo's shoulder, crying out as Harry guided him inside the tight heat.

It was an agonisingly slow, insistent glide as Harry moved his hips back until every inch of him is pressed flush against Draco.

And the head of Theo's cock was pressed up against Draco's rim. Stretching him, filling him. The noises he made were practically inhuman, but he couldn't stop them. He was always loud. Theo says he loves it, but it's Harry's ear he's screaming into.

Theo started to thrust slow and deep and hard, and the dual sensations of being filled and being pushed into Harry are too much. Too much. Too much.

His nails dug into Harry's chest where his arms were wrapped around him like a vice.

His feet kicked against Theo's shins.

Theo picked up the pace, his arm tight around Draco's chest, grounding him, soothing him.

And then he heard Harry whimper.

Before he could stop himself, his hips were bucking, and his pelvis was pressed flush against Harry's soft arse and he was cumming so hard he wasn't even seeing stars. His vision whited out, and he's not even sure he's breathing. And it just kept _going_.

He was vaguely aware that he's sobbing. His face was wet. His chest was heaving. Theo and Harry sounded worried, their low voices drifting around above his head. But he was too tired, too sated to care. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, he somehow fell asleep.

When he came to, the room was dark. There was a firm heat pressed along his back, and a smaller, softer one against his chest. And there were voices.

“He does that sometimes. When it's really good.”

“I was so worried. I thought –”

“Scared me the first time, too.”

“I bet.”

Draco smiled. They were talking about him, about how he – Oh, God. Heat crawled up his cheeks. He'd cried, _sobbed_ , and then fallen asleep. Right in the middle of it. With someone he didn't even know.

“Harry,” he mumbled, trying to force his lips to cooperate. “M'sorry. For fallin' sleep.”

Behind him, Theo chuckled and the arm around his waist tightened. “Hello, sleeping beauty,” Theo murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “There's no need to apologise, but if you'd like to, maybe try again in English?”

Oh. “Not English?”

“Still no, sorry, mon coeur.” Then, to Harry, Theo said, “this happens, too, sometimes.” His voice was warm, fond, and even after all these years, it still made Draco's heart ache, just a little.

Draco shifted, trying to lift himself further up the bed, but stilled as he felt warm, sticky cum trickle down his thigh.

“Bathroom?” Theo asked, and Draco nodded. He loved everything about sex while he was having it. He hated the aftermath. It was sticky and messy and dirty.

Theo tucked him up in his arms like a child and carried him into the large, marble bathroom, setting him down on the bath mat so his feet wouldn't touch the cold tile. In the cold air of the bathroom, away from body heat and thick duvets, he shivered.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Draco shook his head. Normally, he wouldn't let Theo out of his sight, but he didn't want Harry to be left alone. He didn't know what had happened after he passed out. He hoped Harry had enjoyed himself. Theo had – the evidence of it was still dripping down his thighs.

Before he had the chance to ask, Theo was gone, so he stepped under the hot spray of the shower, trying to warm his freezing body. He washed himself up as quickly as possible, which was completely unlike him; Theo always teased him for his marathon-length shower routine. He just wanted to be back in bed, sandwiched between Theo and Harry until he fell asleep – for real, this time. Not just passing out in a mess of his own tears and cum.

He knew most one night stands didn't like to cuddle, but Harry had still been curled against his chest when he'd woken, so maybe he would. Draco hoped he would. He liked how Harry was the perfect height to pull into his chest and tuck under his chin, and he liked how his soft curls tickled his nose. It was the perfect counterpoint to Theo's broad shoulders and firm muscles which curled around him, keeping him safe from the world.

Excited to climb back into bed between them, Draco stepped out of the shower and towelled off quickly. He barely paused in front of the mirror to run a hand through his hair, before deciding he really needed to brush his teeth. His mouth felt dry and fuzzy, and while Theo never minded, he wasn't sure Harry would feel the same.

Finally feeling refreshed and relaxed, Draco stepped out of the bathroom with his towel around his waist. Not even the cold air of the room was enough to cool the warmth in his chest, and he smiled as he walked back into the bedroom –

And stopped dead in the doorway.

Theo was sitting on the bed alone, and Harry's clothes were gone from the floor.

Maybe he just went to –

“Hi,” Theo said, but his voice sounded rough, scratchy.

“Where's Harry?”

Theo tensed.

“He went home. I paid him for the whole night – more, actually. But he wanted to leave.”

And just like that, Draco was freezing cold again.


	4. Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long, heavy chapter, but it sets the background for / explains a lot about Harry's situation.  
> I will do a TLDR at the bottom of the chapter for anyone who has to skip bits due to triggers.
> 
> t/w: medical scenes. mentions of rape, abuse, and HIV.

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

**KNOW**

  
  


“So,” Ron said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Where did you go Sunday night?”

 _Shit._ He knew he'd not slipped out quietly enough. And the meeting time had been too damn early by far. Most of his usual clients didn't want him until they'd had dinner with their wives and put their children to bed. God knows what excuses _they_ gave for disappearing at all hours of the night.

He was sitting in Ron and Hermione's blissfully warm kitchen eating what was either a very late lunch or a very early dinner. They'd been doing the same thing every Saturday for years. At first, they'd alternated weeks, but now – Well, Harry knew they'd started to insist on hosting mostly out of pity, but when his flat was cold and his fridge was empty, he hadn't been able to find it in him to complain.

His flat was still cold, but at least now the fridge was full. He'd even bought some food to freeze for later, when he ran out of money again.

Ron and Hermione were still eyeing him suspiciously. Harry shrugged. “Out.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed. “Out _where_?”

“Y'know,” Harry said, casually, picking up a fry, “this is why I want to move. Living next to you is a nightmare.” It kind of was. What they could afford on two, steady salaries was very different to what Harry could realistically manage on his one, sporadic one. His desperation to stay in the same building as his best friends – and the resultant, crippling rental debt – was part of the reason he'd ended up 'out' on Sunday night.

“You want to move because your landlord is a cunt,” Ron said, bluntly.

Well, that, too. Hermione and Ron owned their flat, like real adults. Harry rented his from a business associate of Fenrir's who didn't believe in repairs. Or hot water. Or heating. His shitty flat was how he'd gotten into the mess he was in now for all kinds of reasons.

“So,” Ron said, again, “where _did_ you go?”

Harry knew Ron thought he'd gone out to meet a girl and was fishing for juicy details. He almost laughed at the thought of Ron's face if Harry _did_ give him any details. Like how Draco had sobbed _his_ name, not his boyfriend's, as he came. Or how Theo had looked, his lips wrapped around Harry's cock after Draco had passed out beside them.

“A hotel.”

Ron's eyes lit up, believing he'd been proven right.

“ _Harry_.”

“What?” he snapped, defensively, focusing hard on dipping his fry into sauce to avoid Hermione's eyes. She was worried. Worried and _pitying_. He hated it. “Can't I go to a hotel without telling you?”

“You're doing it again, aren't you?”

“Doing what?” Ron asked, sharply, finally realising he wasn't having the same conversation as everyone else.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Harry and Hermione hissed, and Ron quickly threw his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, then. I'm headed to the loo.”

Subtle as a brick to the head, Ron was, but Harry was grateful he'd given them some time alone.

“Harry,” Hermione said, softly, and Harry pretended he didn't care about the fear in her voice, “you need to stop. Please. It's dangerous.”

He nearly laughed. She didn't know the half of it. She didn't know how many times he'd been abused by a client. She _certainly_ didn't know how many times he'd ended up in hospital. “I'm fine.”

And he was, physically, at the moment.

Mentally, he was a mess. But _physically_ , he was fine. More than fine. Draco and Theo had been the best clients he'd ever had. But if he had any say in it at all – which he might, this time – he'd never see them again.

Hermione's hand reached out to grab his, stopping him from pushing his food around the plate.

“Fine is _not_ alright, Harry.”

“No one hurt me. No one was mean to me. They were very nice.”

Hermione snorted. “No one hurt you? What kind of low bar is that?” She had no idea just how low the bar had been set. “Is that meant to – Oh, my god, did you say _they_?”

Oh, for fuck's sake. “It's gender neutral,” he hedged.

“It's also _plural_.”

“Sometimes.”

“This time?”

“Maybe.”

It wasn't anything he'd not done before, but Hermione didn't know that, either. Harry didn't _want_ her to know that, to know any of it. She knew sometimes he got paid for it, but she didn't know his own landlord was pimping him out. And she certainly didn't know the depths of depravity he'd been subjected to. Suddenly, he felt the need to reassure her. He didn't want her mind jumping to any kind of conclusions. Not when Draco and Theo had been so _nice_.

“Yes, okay? A couple. A lovely, young, _gay_ couple that wanted a threesome. They were very nice. I enjoyed myself. And they paid very well.”

Nice didn't even cover it, really. _Nice_ didn't quite convey 'it was the best sex of my life and I've wanked myself raw thinking about them this past week'. But that was another thing Hermione didn't need to know.

There was a great deal about Harry's life he'd rather no one knew, in all honestly.

Theo had seemed to know more than Harry wanted him to. When he'd pushed the frankly obscene wad of notes into Harry's hands, he'd whispered that he'd only tell 'that man' about half of it. He'd also asked for Harry's number – 'so if we want to see you again, I can ask you, not him'. Harry hadn't known quite what to make of it, but when his landlord had come knocking on Monday morning, demanding his cut, Harry had meekly handed over a few hundred pounds in rolled-up tenners. The thousand pounds stuffed under his mattress was his to keep.

“Oh,” said Hermione, sounding surprised. “That sounds –”

“Like a hook-up? It basically was. It's not as bad as you think, Mione.” He was lying through his teeth, but the crease between Hermione's brows smoothed, and she smiled slightly.

“Well, it's your body,” she said, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Harry, “but you know I worry about you.”

Harry rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you do, Mione. But, really, I'm fine.”

Ron came back from his overly-long trip to the toilet to find his girlfriend and his best mate holding hands, and it was testament to their friendship that he didn't even blink.

“All sorted?” he asked, as he started shovelling food into his mouth without even sitting down.

Hermione smiled. “All sorted,” she said, lightly. “You know how I worry.”

  
  


She was right to worry, Harry thought, as he leaned heavily against a lamppost, debating whether he could risk going to hospital.

He hated it there; they asked awkward questions and whispered about him behind flimsy, fabric curtains and _judged_ him. He tried not to visit the same hospital too many times in a row, but it hardly mattered; they could all read his medical history.

Tearing.

Scarring.

Broken bones.

Internal bruising.

Classic rape victim. Classic abusive victim. Classic _prostitute._

He could predict the questions, now, before they were even asked.

“How many times have you taken PEP before?” and “I know it's scary, but if you were raped –”

“Are you safe at home? If it's your boyfriend doing this – ”

Harry was _not_ safe at home, but it certainly wasn't a _boyfriend_ doing it.

And, finally, when Harry remained stony-faced: “Are you taking anything?”

He wished he was. God, this would all be easier if he was. But goodness knew he couldn't afford a drug habit on top of everything else. The only experience he had with drugs was the one time he'd been _unbelievably_ stupid and had a few drinks with a client.

He'd woken up alone the next morning with absolutely no memory of the night before, blood places it shouldn't be, and not even enough money for the bus home.

He didn't want to go to the hospital tonight. Not again. But it had been nearly an hour, now, and he could still feel wet, sticky blood mingled with cum sliding down his thighs. Staining his trousers. Making him feel sick and dizzy and _dirty._

“Sir? Are you alright?”

Harry's head spun as he lifted it, tried to locate who was speaking.

“Sir? _Sir?!_ ”

  
  


He woke to bright, fluorescent lights and constant beeping and a harsh, sterile smell and he knew immediately where he was.

At least he wasn't in pain any more.

In fact, he felt almost floaty. They must have given him the good stuff. Most of the time, they refused him anything stronger than paracetamol, just in case he _was_ on drugs.

A metal trolley preceded a harassed-looking nurse as he bustled through a gap in the curtains. He started pulling on some gloves, but froze when he realised Harry was watching him.

“Ah, good, you're awake.”

Harry tensed, but the man merely smiled and carried on dressing in his PPE. “You've been with us a few hours now, and we were starting to get worried. I'll need to run a few checks, and then I've got a few questions.”

There was no scrutiny, no judgement in his voice or his expression, and Harry wondered if he'd not been examined yet. Things usually changed after he was.

“My name's Nurse Lupin, but you can call me Remus if you like.”

Harry nodded, but said nothing. Remus seemed nice enough, but they never stayed this friendly. With the amount of drugs coursing through his system, it was better if he said nothing. That way, he couldn't say too much.

“I'm afraid I don't know your name,” the sandy-haired man prompted.

“Harry. Harry Potter.” Short. Concise. Safe.

The nurse made a quick note on his chart. “And your date of birth?”

“Thirty-first of July, nineteen-eighty.”

He wrote that on the chart, too. “So that makes you...”

“Twenty-four.”

Remus grinned. “Great, thanks, Harry. Have you visited us before?”

Visited, like it was a hotel.

Clearly, Remus knew something about why he was here; he was trying to be nice, but he'd already made a judgement, hadn't he? 'Frequent visitor'. Couldn't Remus just examine him and get it over with?

“Yep.”

“Okay, when we're done here, I'll need to pull your medical history, is that okay?”

Did it make a difference if he said no? “Yep.”

“Do you have any allergies I need to know about?”

“No.” He wished he did. At this point, death by latex glove would be a relief. Idly, he wondered if Draco's allergy was that severe. He hoped not. He'd wished death on a great many clients over the years, but Draco and Theo were decent people. Well, sort of. They couldn't possibly be _that_ decent, given that they were willing to hire him, after all.

“I'm going to check for any head trauma first –”

“My head's fine.” Physically, at least.

Nurse Lupin smiled. “I'm glad to hear it, but I'd still like to check. Follow my finger.”

Harry dutifully performed each pointless test to the nurse's satisfaction, and when he was finished, he pulled up a chair.

“Harry,” he said, and Harry fought not to roll his eyes.

What question would he go for first?

Would he go for a soft, meaningless one, like 'are you okay?' or 'would you like to talk?'. A clinical one, like 'do you remember how the tearing occurred?'. Would he go personal, instead, and ask if Harry was gay, or if his 'partner' was abusive?

“You can tell me what happened, if you like. I won't judge or tell anyone unless you want me to. I will treat you regardless of what you do or do not tell me. But I want you to know – I've been you.”

Harry snorted. “I very much doubt that.”

Remus gestured to a long, thin scar that ran from his temple, across his nose and cheek, and down his jaw on the other side. “I made fifty quid the night this happened.”

Harry's blood ran cold. “You don't know what you're talking about. You know nothing about me.”

With a slight shrug, the sandy-haired man stood up and moved back to his cart, preparing syringes, gauze, and saline solution. “You're right, I don't,” he admitted, lightly, as he worked. “I was eighteen,” he continued, “when I got... infected. It was hard to get a job back then if you were sick. There was a lot of prejudice and no medication, so I had to take what I could get. At first, it was just bar tending. Then I ended up in debt to the owner and... Well, I had to pay him back somehow.”

Harry lay back on the hard, flat hospital bed, pretending not to listen. Whatever sob story Nurse Lupin had was nothing to do with him. He just needed fixing up, a blood test, and sending home with PEP. Again.

“I was stuck there for twelve years.”

Harry's head whipped up to stare at Remus before he could stop himself. He'd barely hit two years, and he was reaching the end of what his body could endure. He could feel it. It took him longer to recover, now, and his body could tolerate far less than it used to. The concept of being stuck in debt, working for Orion Black for another _ten years_...

He lay back down and stared up at the grey-tiled ceiling. “That's a long time,” he said, fighting to keep his tone flat and disinterested.

“Yes,” Remus agreed. “Too long.” He lapsed into silence as he finished preparing everything he needed on his trolley and made a few more notes on his chart. When he finished, he changed his gloves for a fresh pair, put on a mask, and gestured for Harry to roll over.

“There are some abrasions along your back and shoulder from where you fell. I'll clean those first.”

Harry slipped the flimsy hospital gown off his shoulders and rolled over. The tugging at his skin and stiffness in his muscles told him where the damage was, even if the painkillers he'd been given were numbing the pain.

“The internal damage has been cleaned and patched up as best we can,” Remus said, conversationally, as he flushed out one of the wounds. “So I'll just need to check it, but hopefully you won't need anything further. You'll be prescribed antibiotics, and you'll need to abstain for at least two weeks to allow time to heal. Four to six weeks is ideal.”

Harry didn't _have_ four to six weeks. His rent was due in one, and he'd certainly not made enough tonight to cover it.

Remus lapsed back into silence as he applied some dissolvable stitches to the worst of it, then moved to the next injury.

Harry didn't know if it was the drugs, or Remus' unflappable kindness, or just his own inability to sit in silence, but he was unable to hold the question back.

“How did you get out?”

Remus' hands stilled, but before Harry could say anything more, they started moving again.

“I got lucky,” he said, quietly. “The man I owed the money to... One of his sons broke away from the family business. Became a police officer, of all things. He found out about me, and he rescued me.”

“That is lucky,” Harry said, and he knew he'd failed to hide the wistfulness from his voice. His landlord had a son, but he was just as deep in the 'family business' as the rest of them. He'd never touched Harry himself – that was far below him, to fuck a rentboy – but he'd pimped Harry out to some of his truly awful friends. Harry's most sadistic clients were Regulus' friends.

“Very lucky,” Remus agreed. “Even luckier, he's been my husband the past ten years.”

Oh. _Oh._ Harry blamed the painkillers, because _how_ had he not figured that out? “You're gay.”

Remus chuckled. “As a rainbow,” he agreed, laughing. “Now, that's the worst of it cleaned up. I'll do a quick examination, and then we'll do the blood test, okay?”

Harry nodded. He was probably almost as familiar with this process as Remus was, now.

“Would you like a chaperone in the room while I examine you?”

Harry had always, _always_ said yes.

“No.”

“Okay, then. I'll make this as quick and painless as possible.”

It was far from painless, but it had certainly been quick. His blood results came back clear – and every time that happened, Harry felt so relieved he could cry – and soon Remus was talking him through the discharge.

“One of the doctors will be in with your prescriptions for antibiotics and PEP shortly, and then you'll be free to go.” Harry had the sudden urge to ask him to stay, but he held his tongue. Sure, Remus had been nice, but he was just doing his job. Harry didn't even have any way of knowing his story was true, for god's sake. How many people had given him sob stories before to get something out of him? Remus had less to gain than a client, sure, but maybe he was hoping that if he pretended to have been in a similar situation, that Harry would break down and tell him everything. Harry was smarter than that. He knew how to keep his mouth shut.

Suddenly, a small piece of paper was being pushed into his palm.

“My personal number. In case you ever need anything.”

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR:  
> It's Saturday, nearly a week later.  
> Hermione knows Harry's sleeping with people for money, but not the extent of it. Ron knows nothing.  
> Harry is in debt to his landlord, who is Orion Black. Orion Black put Harry in his current situation because of said debt.  
> Theo knew something about this, because he told Harry he'd pay him extra but not tell anyone so he could keep the money. They also exchanged mobile numbers, so they could make potential future arrangements without a middle man.  
> Harry had another - unnamed - client on Saturday night who hurt him, and he ended up in hospital.  
> He is treated by Nurse Remus Lupin, who recognises the red flags and tells Harry he was once in a similar situation. Remus escaped because one of the sons of the man he owed money to broke away from the family and rescued him. He is now married to that man.
> 
> I think that's everything, but if those of you who did read the chapter could let me know if there's something missing, I'd be really appreciative <3


	5. Human

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

**HUMAN**   
  


  
  


_M: Hunter has new prey._

_P: IM?_

_M: Yes._

_P: Bear is in town._

_M: Can we trust him?_

_P: I don't know._

  
  


When Harry got back to his flat, it was four in the morning. He slumped weakly onto his thin, single mattress and stared at the notes in his hands. An evening in hell and six weeks of pain, and all he had left was two hundred quid, most of which was smeared with his own blood. Orion would be over in a few hours, demanding his cut, and then Harry would be left with a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty if he was lucky.

And in a week's time, it was rent day, and he'd owe another five hundred. He'd have to use what was left of the money Theo had given him, but then Orion would want to know where he'd gotten it... And if he _didn't_ use Theo's money, he'd not be able to pay his rent, and he'd be given to someone truly awful to settle the debt. He couldn't afford to end up back in hospital so soon. Hell, he might not even _make_ it to hospital, next time.

He lay down carefully on his side, wincing painfully, and stared at the growing damp patch on the peeling wallpaper.

If the nurse had been telling the truth, he'd survived similar for _twelve years_. And he hadn't died. It hadn't destroyed him. He'd escaped and he'd made something of himself. He was a nurse. He had a _husband_.

Harry rolled that word around in his head. The concept of someone loving him, of loving him so much that they'd want to make it permanent, was something he'd long since abandoned. He was used, damaged goods. He had enough baggage to sink a ship. He was a little orphan boy turned prostitute. Even his best friends, as much as they cared for him, would abandon him if they knew the truth. Hermione knew a rose-tinted version, and even that was enough to warrant her fear, her disgust. The whole truth would be nothing short of catastrophic.

But... Remus had been the same, hadn't he? Used, damaged, destroyed. And someone had rescued him. Loved him. Kept him. _Fixed_ him.

Maybe Remus' husband looked at him like Theo looked at Draco. Harry hoped he did. Some time in the month since he'd last seen them, his fantasies had shifted. At first, it had been Theo's dirty words and Draco's moans echoing around in his brain as he frantically wanked off to the memories of their evening together, but then he'd started remembering other things. The gentler touches, the soft eyes and kind smiles and all the things that weren't meant for someone like him. The things he'd long since resigned himself to never having. The things he _wanted_.

The painkillers must have been lingering in his system, because he was feeling maudlin. Those kinds of thoughts were pointless. Useless. Dangerous, even. Hope was dangerous; it was idealistic, and it made you think stupid things and make stupid choices. Harry needed to be realistic, practical, _safe_. There was no Prince Charming riding in to whisk him away to a better life. No courageous police officer, defying his family to keep him safe. He had himself, and only himself, and he'd learned to live with that years ago. What the fuck had he been thinking, letting two clients and a nurse – none of which he'd ever see again – get inside his head?

Not even bothering to change out of the ripped, soiled suit he was wearing, Harry pulled the thin duvet over hiis aching body and closed his eyes. He'd stop fantasising about Theo and Draco, and he'd ignore story Nurse Lupin had spun him. None of it change anything. None of it helped him. So he'd just forget about it all and move on.

  
  


Harry had never been more grateful that Ron and Hermione worked too hard to see him during the week. He'd barely left his bed for three days, and it was lucky he wasn't hungry because there was no food in the fridge and no chance of him making it all the way to Tesco's. He'd made it out of bed for a handful of toilet breaks and, of course, to hand over a hundred and fifty pounds to Orion. He felt like he was _dying_ , and he'd been left fifty quid to show for it.

Remus' scarred face floated in his mind's eye. _“I made fifty quid the night this happened.”_

Harry didn't have any permanent scars. Not yet. But he had three days left to get his rent money together, but there was no way he could service a client in this state. He certainly couldn't muster a performance worth five hundred pounds.

Orion wasn't likely to beat him up, he didn't like to get his hands dirty with anything like that, but if he sent Fenrir or one of his other goons round to collect the money, Harry was looking at a black eye and a broken nose at the very least.

Harry was weighing up the risks of paying with money Orion didn't know he had versus not paying at all when his phone rang.

It wasn't a number he recognised, and he briefly debated letting it ring out, but if it was a client and he didn't pick up... He picked up.

“Hello?” He grimaced. Fuck. He sounded as rough as he felt.

“Harry?”

He froze, breath caught in his throat, hands shaking. He should put the phone down, block the number –

“Harry, it's Theo. Are you okay?”

He almost sounded worried. Probably not worried enough to change his mind about what he was calling for, though, and that was what made Harry so different from Draco. Theo was a nice person, but Harry had to remember not to mistake kindness with genuine care. He'd gotten swept away in it all last time. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

“Fine. What can I do for you?”

He knew he was being rude, but he still felt like he was being ripped in two every time he moved, and he didn't have the energy for flirtatious niceties. Either Theo wanted him or he didn't. Harry told himself he didn't care either way.

“Are you free tonight?”

Free? Yes. In any fit state? No. Harry had sworn he wouldn't see them again, but what was one more night? He could treat this just like any other job, any other clients. He had rent to pay, and at least Theo and Draco at least probably wouldn't leave him for dead.

“Yes.”

“Great. We're at the same place as last time, same room. I'll book you a car. It'll pick you up at eight.”

The line went dead. Harry vaguely wondered how Theo got his address, but if Theo knew Fenrir, he probably knew Orion. It wouldn't have been hard to find out where he lived.

It was already half-past six. He had an hour and a half to turn himself from the corpse-like state he'd been in all week into something vaguely fuckable.

He started with a double dose of painkillers, then shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It would probably have been almost pleasant if he'd had hot water. Instead, the freezing cold droplets felt like thousands of tiny needles on his skin, and the shivers that racked his body sent pain tearing through his stomach. But at least he was clean, his hair was smooth, and he no longer smelled or looked quite so much like death.

Dressing was equally challenging. He couldn't bend, so he had to set out his boxers and jeans – his only suit trousers were truly unsalvageable – on the bed and try to work them up to his knees with his feet. It took several tries and well over half an hour, and by the time he was done, he was tired and sweaty. He sprayed himself in cheap deodorant and hoped Draco and Theo would be too polite to mention it.

Thankfully, the painkillers had started to work by the time the cab arrived, and he was able to make it down the stairs and into the car without visibly wincing or doubling over in pain.

The cab was about the poshest thing Harry had ever been in. It was sleek and black and had leather seats and tinted windows. The driver was in some kind of uniform, and he introduced himself as Bert and offered Harry a sealed bottle of water.

Harry accepted it gratefully and sipped it as the near-silent car slipped through the dark, city streets and out into the countryside towards Draco and Theo's hotel.

By the time the car came to a stop on the sweeping driveway, he almost felt human. All he had to do was let a very attractive, young, French man fuck him, and his rent would be paid. He'd be fine. He told himself the fluttering in his stomach was a side effect of the painkillers, nothing else.

He thanked Bert, who looked astounded and smiled widely, and walked right past the receptionist who had been so rude to him last time. When he rapped his knuckles against the dark, wooden door of room 203, he had thoroughly convinced himself that this would be easy. Go in, seduce, fuck, leave. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger!
> 
> Please leave kudos and reviews, they're my writing fuel <3


	6. Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV - and the moment you've all been waiting for!

**CHAPTER SIX:**

**LIE**

  
  


“You want me to _what_?”

Theo had said and done some weird shit over the years. They'd been friends since they were in nappies, and more than that nearly a decade. But Theo still, somehow, managed to surprise Draco.

“I need you to lie. Make up an excuse. Fatigue. A migraine. Active diarrhoea. I don't care, just _something_.”

Draco did a double-take at the third suggestion, then dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his temples. At this rate, he'd have a _real_ headache, no lying or acting required. “Just to be clear,” he said, wearily, “you have called Harry. Harry, who we pay for sex, which is apparently something we do now?” he paused, waiting for an explanation of any kind as to how _that_ had happened. They had money. Tons of it. But they were young, rich, and hot. They could walk into any bar and take someone home. That's what they usually did.

Theo offered no explanation, and when Draco lifted his head, he was sitting patiently, face impassive, so he carried on.

“So, Harry, who we pay for sex, is coming here. To be paid for sex. And you want me to find an excuse _not_ to have sex?”

Theo nodded once. “Yes, please.”

“Theo...” Draco trailed off helplessly, his brain completely overloaded with this sudden influx of information and Theo's bizarre request. The pain of walking into that bedroom and seeing Harry gone was still sharp, though, logically, it shouldn't be. Sure, he'd liked Harry. The sex had been phenomenal. Harry had been cute. But he'd had good sex with cute men loads of times before, and most of them had left straight after. He liked to snuggle, but he had Theo for that. It was just... the way Harry had looked at him, the way Harry had known instinctively what he needed– Draco tightened his fists, nails digging painfully into his palm. He'd let himself get carried away, imagining a connection that had never existed. The reality had hurt more than he'd expected.

“After last time, you said – you _promised_ – we wouldn't do this again.” He knew his tone was weak and whiny, but he can't help it. Petulantly, he folded his arms across his chest. He didn't _want_ to see Harry again. Really, he didn't. He _couldn't_ , because Harry would look at him with those green eyes and soft expression and he'd believe it all over again.

“Draco.” Draco's eyes snapped up at Theo's roughened, weary voice. The shadows under Theo's eyes had been getting progressively darker over the past three days, and his brow was near-constantly furrowed. He'd been making quiet phone calls and sending furtive texts whenever he thought Draco was too busy to notice. If Draco trusted Theo any less, he'd have assumed he was having an affair. But Draco _did_ trust him, so he knew something was wrong, and he was worried.

Draco reached out to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead away with his thumb, and Theo leaned heavily into the touch like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“Qu'est ce qui ne va pas, mon nounours?” Draco murmured, hand gently cradling Theo's head.

Theo's lips twitched upwards at the endearment, but the smile faded away as quickly as it had come. “I love you,” he whispered, “and I am so, so sorry. But I need you to trust me.”

He'd said that last time, too. Before Harry had come over. “ _I met him through a_ ,” he'd paused, grimacing, “ _mutual acquaintance_ . _And he does this for a living._ ”

“ _What, threesomes?_ ”

“ _Sex._ ”

Draco hadn't liked the idea, but he'd trusted Theo.

“ _I_ _can't tell you everything_ ,” Theo had said when Draco had asked him more about Harry. By 'everything', he'd really meant 'anything', but Draco had accepted it anyway. That was before he'd met Harry. Before Harry had left so abruptly. Before Theo had invited him back out of the blue, a month later. Before Theo had _asked Draco to feign illness to get out of sex._

“Je t'aime,” Draco whispered back, and he meant it. “And do trust you. But Theo, one day soon, you'll need to start trusting me, too.”

Theo reached out and pulled Draco into his side roughly, almost desperately, burying his face into his hair and pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. “I want to,” he murmured. “I _do_. But it isn't my choice.”

“This is bigger than just Harry, isn't it?” Draco realised, his heart thudding unevenly in his chest as a wave of cold dread washed over him. “This isn't just about you – us – fancying a poor boy.”

Normally, Theo would reprimand him for calling anyone that, but this time it was like he hadn't even noticed. He went still after the first sentence, muscles tense, and then, finally, Theo's chest raised and lowered sharply under Draco's cheek as he took an unsteady breath. “I can't answer that.”

As if that in itself wasn't an answer. Fuck. What had Theo gotten himself in to?

“Please, just do this tonight for me – for Harry. _Please_. And try not to let your emotions show on your face when he turns up.”

Draco had assumed Theo had been referring to the disproportionate level of abandonment he'd felt last time, and reassured him that his Malfoy mask was unshakeable when he wanted it to be.

But an hour later, he was frozen in the doorway, his emotions most assuredly showing on his face.

“ _Harry_.”

The smile Harry flashed him seemed genuine enough, but Draco's stomach was twisted into knots, and his face felt frozen in an expression of horror.

Harry's smile faltered immediately.

“Draco?” A large hand landed on Draco's hip, thumb rubbing circles in a move that had never before failed to ground him in reality. It failed completely this time.

“Oh, Harry,” Theo said, tone bright, “Come in!” If Draco hadn't known Theo all his life, he'd never have detected the false happiness underlying every word. He guided Draco backwards out of the doorway, letting Harry in to the room. “I'm so sorry,” he said, as he shut the door, “Draco's feeling a touch under the weather.”

Draco was unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny brunette. What had _happened_? His mouth tried to form the words, but nothing came out, despite the near-screaming in his head. He tried desperately to catch Theo's eye, but the taller man was studiously avoiding him, his own face set in a perfect mask of polite interest as he asked Harry about the car he'd sent and how his journey had been.

Was Theo seeing what Draco was seeing? Was he hallucinating?

Draco blinked hard, but nothing changed.

The man in front of him still looked exactly the same as he had when Draco had answered the door, except that the bright lighting inside their hotel room made the horror all the more stark.

Harry's face was drawn and waxy, his eyes sunken, his hair dull. He had a nasty bruise creeping out from under his shirt collar and up his neck. He was holding himself stiffly, as if trying to mask significant pain. He looked like he ought to be in hospital, not coming to their hotel room for a threesome. What had he even been thinking? Why hadn't he told Theo 'no, thanks, not tonight'? Why was he here?

Draco's head was spinning, blood rushing in his ears, and the faint throbbing in his temples that had begun earlier was now a full drum solo. The headache he was meant to be faking was now very, very real.

Finally, Theo met his eyes behind Harry's back, his expression grim. Horrified, yes, but not shocked, not surprised. He'd known. Somehow, he'd known, and that was why he'd asked Draco to make excuses. Well, it wouldn't be a problem now. His head was pounding, and the thought of forcing himself on someone so obviously unwell was nothing short of repellent.

He'd gladly fake active diarrhoea. Hell, he'd fake his own _death_ if that's what it took.

Theo must have seen the shift from horror to determination in Draco's face, and his own expression softened into a reassuring smile as he guided a very stiff-backed Harry over to the sofa. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, Draco finally moved to join them.

He settled on the other side of Harry, tucking his feet up onto the sofa and leaning slowly, carefully into the smaller man's tense body. Slowly, inch by inch, Draco felt Harry relax, leaning into Theo's gentle embrace, and Draco settled more comfortably against him in turn.

Theo and Harry were talking quietly about something over his head, but Draco wasn't listening. He could hear Harry's steady heartbeat under his left ear, reassuring him that as awful as Harry looked on the outside, he was still alive.

He was getting carried away again, swept up in connections and emotions that didn't exist except in his own mind, but with Harry's arm around his waist and Theo's around both their shoulders, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He looked up, catching Theo's eye, and they shared a small smile.

Theo couldn't tell him everything, but they were on the same team – _Harry's_ team, even is he didn't know it yet – and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the plot thickens.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and reviews so far <3  
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!!


	7. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo's POV this time :)

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

**RULES**

  
  


_P: I need a number._

_R: Whose?_

_P: If you breathe a word to anyone, they won't find your body._

_R: Yeah, yeah, you'll dump my body in the ocean, I know._

_R: Whose number?_

_P: Harry._

  
  


The text came through at three in the morning.

Theo was wide-awake in seconds, hand snatching the phone from the bedside table, but he wasn't quick enough.

The lit screen and sudden vibration against the wooden table had stirred Draco, who rolled over in bed looking adorably sleep-rumpled with his pink cheeks and fluffy, blonde locks in a halo around his face.

“Wh'assit?” he mumbled, eyes barely open as he shuffled across the wide bed towards Theo.

“Dunno,” he lied, ignoring the sting of shame that came with it. “Whatever it is, it can wait 'til morning.”

Draco huffed softly and nuzzled his way back into Theo's arms, his soft breath puffing across Theo's collarbone. He was sure Draco could hear the loud, uneven thudding of his heart where his head rested on Theo's broad chest; he hoped he wasn't awake enough to notice. He forced himself to relax, to pull Draco closer and run his fingers through his silky hair just like he always did. He closed his eyes, he evened out his breathing. He waited.

The seconds stretched out into minutes stretched out into what felt like years before Draco's soft breaths finally turned into the gentle snores he always swore he didn't make. Most nights, there was no sound in the world that soothed Theo to sleep faster. Not tonight.

Theo held his breath, heart hammering, as he slipped out of Draco's embrace, grabbed his phone, and raced for the bathroom.

He shut the door behind him almost noiselessly, unlocking his phone the moment it snicked shut.

The text message was sparse but to the point. Emergency code. Phone number. Location. Deadline.

No name, but that was hardly surprising.

The location was easy; they'd been staying in a hotel just outside the city for over a month now. Both of their families had properties across Britain and abroad, but staying in a family property meant running the risk of being dropped in on by any number of family members. Hotels were better, easier. And they came with built-in chefs.

Theo had a niggling suspicion that he somehow knew where they were staying, but he knew better than to ask questions.

But, _fuck_. The deadline was in less than a week.

He should have spoken to Draco sooner. He should have pushed harder, explained that Draco _could_ be trusted. How was he going to explain this? After the complete disaster with Harry, how was he going to convince Draco to ever do anything like that again? How was he going to explain _why_?

It was nearing four in the morning, but he really didn't have any time to lose. This was a test – a very real test with very real consequences – and he could not fail. Not when someone else's life could quite literally be on the line.

He took a deep breath, prayed Draco would forgive him, and tapped on the phone number, opening a new text thread to the number he'd been sent.

He was halfway through typing a bullshit excuse for how he'd gotten the man's number when he froze.

He flipped back to the text he'd received.

Then to his draft message.

Back to the text.

He switched between the two over and over, double and triple and quadruple checking the numbers, his hands shaking so hard the screen in his hand became impossible to focus on.

The emergency text was not for some random man he'd never met.

It was for Harry.

  
  


Theo spent the next three days in turmoil.

He had to do this. There was no other option.

But in doing this, he could hurt Draco. He could even – _fuck._ Theo slammed his closed fist against the tile wall of the shower, hardly noticing when the skin split and blood started dripping onto the pristine white floor. Fuck, he could lose Draco. He'd been in love with Draco as long as he could remember. There was no big moment, no sexuality crisis, no coming to terms for him; he loved Draco, he'd always loved Draco, and that's all there was to it.

The second half of their time at boarding school had been spent the way he imagined many teenagers in the heady rush of first love spent their time: finding empty classrooms and shadowed corners to snog in, creeping into each others' beds at night, and sneaking out at the first light of dawn. No one knew, of course, but what did that matter? The secrecy, the forbidden nature of it all only made it more exciting.

Things hadn't changed when they'd gone to university together... until they had. Until Theo had caught Draco checking out other men on nights out. Until Theo had caught Draco moaning someone else's name. Until Draco had come to Theo crying because _what was wrong with him_ and they'd ended up seeing a relationship counsellor. There was nothing wrong with Draco. Of course, there wasn't. He was Theo's perfect boy, and Theo loved Draco, no matter what.

So they'd branched out together, and that had worked when they were picking up random men for one night stands. But then things had gotten messy and Draco had gotten hurt and he'd sworn it off for years. Theo had dated on and off, slept with a few men, been out a few times without Draco, but nothing had ever clicked.

It had barely been six months since they'd been at a club and, for the first time in years, Draco had leaned over, soft lips brushing Theo's sensitive ears, and whispered, “ _him_.”

Barely six months, and Theo had fucked it all up by mixing business with pleasure. And now he was about to make it even worse.

  
  


When Draco came back from the hotel spa, Theo was sitting on the sofa waiting for him, his hands trembling as he grasped them together in his lap.

Draco stopped in the doorway, towel dangling awkwardly from one hand. “Theo?”

“I – We – Can we talk? Please?”

Draco blanched, towel falling to the floor as he hesitantly made his way over to sit beside Theo.

“What's wrong? Did I – ?”

“No!” Theo said, cutting Draco off. “No, mon coeur. Not at all. It's not you – It's –” Draco was tensing further with every word, his face pale and his breaths coming faster, sharper. Theo was always the calm one, the unshakeable one, and that's what Draco needed from him now. Theo took a deep breath, set his own fears aside, and gently took Draco's hands in his own. “Something has happened, and I need you to trust me.”

Draco's shoulders loosened almost immediately, though his eyes betrayed his wariness.

“Do you promise to trust me?”

Draco nodded. Theo felt far too precarious in the current situation to push for a verbal answer, so he carried on.

“And do you promise to do what I ask, no matter how irrational it might seem?”

Draco's eyes narrowed, and his shoulders drew up slightly. The only indicators that he was feeling any tension, any stress at all. Someone who didn't know him well would see nothing beyond his blank mask.

Theo reached out to gently rub at his tense shoulders, wishing there was more he could do. He would shield Draco from every part of this wretched mess if he could, but that had never been an option. Draco wouldn't stand for being lied to or having things hidden from him. As much as Theo _thought_ he needed protecting and coddling, he rarely allowed it. Not when it came to any real trouble.

This was definitely real.

“I have asked Harry to come over again this evening to provide his –” He was trying hard to maintain a confident, solid front for Draco, but he could feel it cracking with every word. The hurt that had flashed across Draco's face – just as sharp and raw as it had been a month ago – ripped Theo's heart open like a knife. Theo took a deep breath and forced himself to carry on; Draco was everything to him, but Harry _needed_ him. “He's coming to provide his services. When he gets here, I need you to feign illness of some kind so that he cannot – Well, so that nothing happens.”

“You want me to _what_?”

Theo flinched at the hurt that flashed in Draco's eyes, but he couldn't back down. Not on this. “I need you to lie. Make up an excuse. Fatigue. A migraine. Active diarrhoea,” he threw in, in a terrible attempt to lighten the situation. “I don't care, just _something_.”

Draco did a double-take at his third suggestion, but didn't crack a smile. Theo didn't blame him. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, and Theo tensed. But then Draco dropped his head into his hands, shoulders slumped, and Theo felt a tiny bit of the tension bleed out of his body.

He'd messed up. There was still a chance he would lose Draco at the end of this. There was a terrifyingly high chance he would lose _both_ of them. But for tonight, Draco would trust him, and Harry would be safe.

  
  


Theo heard the knock on the door and rushed out of the bedroom to answer it, but Draco had gotten there first. He heard Draco gasp Harry's name, and he steeled himself, pasting a smile on his face. If Draco's mask had slipped this quickly –

Theo's steps faltered as he caught a glimpse of the smaller boy over Draco's shoulder.

“Draco?” he said, hoping no one noticed how his voice cracked. Draco's was frozen, and Theo could see the turmoil roiling behind his grey eyes. He rubbed circles into Draco's hip as he turned his attention to Harry, his smile barely more than a tight grimace as he fought back his own reaction. The anger, he had been ready for. The gut-wrenching grief for what Harry had suffered was expected. But the _guilt_. Fuck, the guilt was eating him alive. What if he'd called Harry sooner. What if he'd paid him more last time. What if, what if, what if.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, with forced joviality, as if surprised to see the man he'd invited not three hours previous, “Come in!” Theo gently guided Draco backwards out of the doorway, watching the shaken blonde worriedly out of the corner of his eye. “I'm so sorry,” he said, trying to think of a way to explain his love's sudden silence and ashen face, “Draco's feeling a touch under the weather.” He let out a shaky breath as Harry's green eyes clouded slightly with worry, not doubting his explanation for a moment.

“Oh, I wouldn't have come if I'd have known –”

“No,” Theo interjected, softening the interruption with a small smile, “I'm sure he'll feel better soon. How was your drive?”

Theo half-listened to Harry's answer – and made a mental note to tip Bert extra, next time – as Draco's eyes burned a hole in the side of his head. When he was absolutely sure Harry's attention was elsewhere, he chanced a quick glance at Draco.

A moment was all it took. Draco's expression shifted from horror to grim determination, and Theo felt his heart swell to the point of a physical ache with how much he loved his Dragon. Fuck, what had he ever done to deserve such an amazing man? _I love you_ , he thought, fiercely, and he hoped Draco could read it from his expression.

“I think Draco might need to rest for a little while,” Theo said, lightly, “and we never did get to talk much last time.”

He guided Harry towards the sofa with a hand on the small of his back. It was a protective move, but it felt oddly intimate as his fingers grazed the waistline of Harry's jeans. Guilt was near drowning him now; how dare he, after what Harry had been through? And yet, it was not enough for him to move his hand.

Harry held himself stiffly, but Theo knew it was likely to be pain rather than nerves. He resolutely refused to let his gaze wander to the deep shadows under Harry's dull eyes, or the nearly black bruise that stretched across his neck and shoulder, marring his soft, tan skin. Harry needed him. He could break down over all of this later. Much later, after he'd made sure both of his boys were taken care of and safe and well.

He settled onto the sofa with Harry still held close to his side and wrapped an arm around the smaller man. Draco's lithe form had always tucked neatly into Theo's larger one, but Harry was so small, Theo's bigger build engulfed him. Tucked him up where Theo could protect him, where no one could hurt him. Harry didn't know that yet, but he would, one day.

Draco, now looking much calmer, curled up on the sofa on Harry's other side and cuddled into him as if he'd been doing it all his life. Theo had been on the receiving end of Draco's cuddles for years, but something about seeing it from the outside made his chest ache. He'd never grow tired of all the little ways he could fall in love with Draco all over again, and today had been filled with them. The way Draco's taller form tucked and snuggled into Harry's side like an affectionate kitten. The way Harry looked down in shock, but seemed to melt instantly at the tiny smile on Draco's face. The way all three of them seemed to slot together like puzzle pieces, tension bleeding out of Harry as he sank into both of them.

“Draco will probably nap for a while,” Theo murmured. “But we could watch a movie if you like?”

Harry hadn't let his guard down completely. There were walls a mile high, armour so thick it would likely survive a nuclear fall out. But Harry offered him a hesitant smile and let his messy, black curls spill across Theo's shoulder as he leaned closer.

“Would you like to?” was his people-pleasing answer, but Theo didn't want work-Harry. He wanted _real_ Harry. He'd seen glimpses of Harry's fire, his passion, his _life_ last time. It was still there, but it was so hidden, so beaten down, Theo wondered if Harry himself even forgot how to find it sometimes.

“C'mon, Harry,” he chided gently. “We're not like that here. What kind of movies do you like?”

He had wondered if Draco had already fallen asleep, but as he reached for the remote, grey eyes cracked open and his face lit up in a soft, content smile, his head nestled comfortably in Harry's lap.

This first mission, this case, was a test, and Theo had failed. Because rule number one was _always_ “Don't get emotionally involved in a case”.

Theo had never thought much of rules, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your reviews <3  
> There's some really interesting theories about who the texts are between and what they're about, so hit me with your theories from this chapter!


	8. Stay

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

**STAY**

  
  


“I – I should go.” Theo almost didn't hear Harry's soft voice over the dramatic music marking the final scene of the film. He was staring intently down at his own hands, curled into fists with his knuckles white. Without thinking, Theo took them in his own, prising his fists open and rubbing his thumbs over the crescent-shaped indents from Harry's nails. 'Don't hurt yourself', was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he didn't have any right. Harry wasn't his the way Draco was. Not yet. Possibly not ever. The odd arrangement they had now would have to be enough.

“Go?” Theo asked, innocently. He knew that Harry was unsettled by the lack of sex; he'd been antsy last time, too. But Theo wanted Harry to know it wasn't about that with them, no matter what his handler thought or what the money ought to mean. Draco was fast asleep, his pink lips parted as he snored quietly in Harry's lap, and Theo was perfectly comfortable with Harry tucked into his arms. There was no reason to change anything.

Harry nodded without looking up. “Yes,” he said, voice flat. “Draco isn't well. I should leave.”

His voice was carefully controlled, but Theo could hear the concern underlying his tone. He was worried about Draco. Theo had caught Harry running his fingers through his Dragon's hair and stroking soft fingertips along his cheek when he thought no one would notice. He cared. Maybe that's what he was afraid of.

“He'll be fine.”

Harry frowned. “He needs to rest,” he insisted, seemingly frustrated by Theo's lack of concern. Of course, Harry had no way of knowing that Draco – while likely worn out by the emotional roller coaster today had been – really was fine. Draco was in far better shape than Harry, and yet Harry seemed unconcerned entirely by his own health. There was no way Theo could let him go and leave him to fend for himself in this state.

“Stay a little longer,” Theo implored, “please? We've not eaten yet. Let's order something and eat, and then you can go, if you still want to.” He had no intentions of letting Harry go, food or no, but he needed to buy himself some time. Perhaps if Harry saw Draco awake and eating, he would worry less and agree to stay.

“I'd rather not.”

Theo froze at Harry's sharp tone.

“Harry....” Theo trailed off, reconsidering what he'd been about to say. Games and manipulation had never worked with Draco, so why was he trying them with Harry? Harry would sense deception a mile off and run; honesty was his only option. “Harry, I called you because I enjoyed your company, not just sleeping with you. Draco is tired, but – Harry, you look unwell, too. I'd like you to stay a few days. I will pay for all of them, but I don't expect you to sleep with us. You're welcome to your own bed. We'd just like to enjoy your company.”

Harry's eyes slowly raised to his, cold and wary. “Why?”

“Why what, mon lutin?”

“Why ask me here? Why ask me to stay for days when I'm not good enough for you to fuck?”

Theo flinched. Not _good_ enough? Is that really what he thought?

Harry's raised voice had woken Draco, who stirred in Harry's lap, blinking sleepily. “Didn't get cuddles last time,” his sleep-thick voice mumbled. “Gotta gets them now.”

A soft smile tugged at Theo's lips as he watched the way Harry softened slightly when he looked at Draco. He seemed to have that effect on both of them. “ Ça va , mon coeur,” Theo reassured his Dragon. “Bientôt.”

Harry's eyes darted back and forth between them like a cornered rabbit. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Theo assured him, at the same time as Draco stubbornly said “cuddles”.

“Nothing you don't want to give,” Theo reiterated firmly. “Not even cuddles.” He turned a stern eye to Draco, who was already pouting. “Not a single thing you are not comfortable with, Harry.”

Harry's eyes moved warily between them, but more steadily now. His gaze shifted from panicked to assessing, as if trying to decide whether they could be taken at their word. “Cuddles are okay,” he said, slowly, as one hand trailed absent-mindedly through Draco's hair. “But I'd rather not eat.”

Draco tilted his head back to look up at Harry from his lap. “The food here is delicious,” he assured him, grinning. “They'll make anything you ask for.”

Harry smiled tightly. “I'm sure it's very nice, but I prefer to keep my head.”

Ice-cold realisation slammed into Theo, sending a shiver of rage down his spine. “You've been drugged?”

Harry's body turned to stone. “Occupational hazard,” he said, shortly.

Realising his mistake, Theo gently tugged Harry back into his chest and gentled his tone. “Not here, it isn't,” he reassured him, his fingers massaging Harry's scalp in a way Theo had discovered made his whole body melt.

“We could order take out,” Theo offered, after a few, peaceful moments. “You could know for sure we haven't tampered with it.” Harry needed to eat; he looked like a feather could knock him over at the moment, and he'd clearly lost weight since the last time they'd seen him. If he was going to stay for a few days – and he would, if Theo had any say at all in the matter – not eating simply wasn't an option.

Harry considered it, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he turned the offer over in his head. “I suppose... if you let me pick where we order from _and_ you let me take it from the delivery driver _and_ you let me dish it out.”

Theo agreed immediately, pulling a stack of menus from a side table drawer and handing them to Harry. “Pick anything you want. And I mean _anything_.”

Theo ordered double of everything Harry asked for – which wasn't much – and one of everything he'd paused to consider. The food that arrived covered the dining table, the sides of the small kitchenette, and the coffee table, filling the rooms with the unmistakeable aroma of Indian cuisine.

True to his word, Theo remained on the sofa with Draco, out of the way of Harry as he piled everything he wanted onto his plate. Anything of his that he'd not touched, Theo purposely left sealed and in his eyeline, so he would know it was safe to eat later.

They joined him at the table when he was done, and Theo and Harry watched with amusement as Draco hesitantly ladled a small scoop of korma onto his rice, looking at it as if it might hurt him.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Harry asked, sounding torn between concern and humour.

“It smells _spicy_.”

“It's a _korma_.” Harry replied, completely baffled.

Theo couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of him at that. “The little French prince is allergic to anything spicier than his skin tone,” he teased, running one hand down Draco's lily-white forearm. “Don't mind him. He wouldn't know flavour if it bit him on the arse.”

Harry snorted into his curry, but muffled it quickly, as if expecting a reprimand. “I'm sorry,” he said, quickly. “I didn't know you didn't like it. I would have ordered something else –”

“It's okay,” Draco said, cutting across Harry's increasingly panicked monologue. He smirked playfully at Harry in the way that made everyone melt, including Theo. Harry's cheeks darkened, and Theo was warmed to know he wasn't as unaffected as he seemed. “Theo's always trying to 'expand my palette'.” He paused, rolling his eyes dramatically and pouting. Harry, who knew no better, chose that moment to take a sip of the water he'd poured himself. “I honestly don't know what's wrong with a good, basic diet of meat, potatoes, and dick.”

Harry abruptly choked on his water, some of it escaping his mouth and splashing onto the table, and Draco exploded into peals of laughter at getting the desired reaction.

Theo watched as Harry tensed, eyes fixated on the spilled water before, eventually, they flickered up to meet Theo's. He smiled gently, letting Harry know it was okay, before giving a still-hysteric Draco a playful glare.

“Now, now, Draco,” he drawled, “my penis is anything but _basic_.”

This time, Harry's laughter joined Draco's and oh, god, did it sound good. Tears stung Theo's eyes as he laughed with them, and if anyone noticed a few escape, they must have assumed they were from laughing so hard.

The rest of the meal was filled with playful banter, Harry growing bolder as the evening wore on and every witty exchange or sharp retort ended in laughter and affectionate touches, not anger or punishment. It was beautiful, Theo thought, as they returned to their places on the sofa, to see Harry blossom so quickly with such a small amount of kindness.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?” Harry asked, quietly, as Draco commandeered the remote and snuggled back into Harry's chest.

Theo grinned, feeling much more secure in his ability to keep Harry around for a few days now he'd relaxed in their company. “Are _you_ sure you want to?” He motioned to the blonde who was surely intent on spending their entire fortunes on terrible, pay-per-view romance movies. “He picks the worst films, and he cries at every single one.”

“I do not!” Draco countered, affronted. “I didn't cry _once_ at American Pie!”

Harry muffled giggles in his hand. “Draco, that's a _comedy_.”

“And I didn't cry!”

“You're not meant to. It's a _comedy_.”

Theo leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Harry's ear. He thought he felt the smaller man shiver, but it was probably just wishful thinking. The fact that he didn't tense or flinch away was incredible progress. “He didn't cry at the first one. He did at the second. He cries at _everything_.”

Harry giggled, but wrapped his arm tighter around Draco. “But you love him, anyway.”

Theo smiled, reaching to encompass both men in his embrace. “I do. Unconditionally.” Draco's selfless, open welcome of Harry tonight had been nothing short of amazing, and Theo had never been prouder. He'd come a long way from the spoiled little rich boy his parents had brought him up to be.

Draco turned to look at Theo, grey eyes shining with what looked suspiciously like tears. “Je t'aime sans condition. Peu importe ce que tu faites ou qui tu aimez.”

The opening credits burst onto screen, and Draco turned back to face the television. The moment was broken, but Draco's warm, soft hand slipped into Theo's larger one and squeezed gently. When Theo looked down, Draco's other hand was entwined with Harry's.

Once both men were thoroughly engrossed in the completely overdramatic love story, Theo slipped his phone from his pocket with his free hand and tapped out a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos <3  
> Please keep the feedback coming!


End file.
